Above the crash of the tempest, the voice of the Stranger broke "Behold, the ruin of the harvest— this is the heathen!" He spoke. "The storm that so wildly rages, is God's great Judgment Day!" And I woke, and wept in repentance as there on my bed I lay. Calling on God in the heavens, with contrite spirit I prayed: "O Lord, I will be a worker! Too long, too long have I played! Because of the ripened harvest, I give You my heart and my arm; I'll spend my strength in the valleys to save the grain from the storm." NEARER HOME One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er; I'm nearer home today Than I have been before. Nearer my Father's house Where many mansions be; Nearer the great white throne; Nearer the crystal sea. Nearer the bound of life, Where burdens are laid down; Nearer leaving the cross; Nearer gaining the crown! TH IS I KNOW (Ephesians 6:18) I know not by what methods rare, But this I know, God answers prayer. I know that He has given His Word, Which tells me— prayer is always heard, And will be answered soon or late; I know not if the blessing sought Will come in just the way I thought, But leave my prayers with Him alone, Whose will is wiser than my own, Assured that He will grant my quest, Or send some answer far more blest. — Phoebe Cary
THE HARVEST A N D THE TEMPEST Deep in the shadow of slumber, one night I lay on my bed, And dreamed I stood on a mountain, with valleys before me spread. The valleys were wide, and yellow, with beautiful waving grain; But a cloud hung black in the dis tance, loaded with tempest and rain. Looking, I saw in the valley, labor ers— but, oh, so few!! I knew the gathering tempest would break before they were through. Although they were all so busy, bend ing themselves to the work, They saw the storm was approaching and knew that they dared not shirk. Then near the foot of the mountain, I happened to turn my eyes. And there stood a Man whose visage was brighter than sunset skies. He spoke— in such tones of sorrow it caused my heart to bleed; "Behold, how white is the harvest— with reapers so few indeed!" "W h y are the workers not many?" I thought to myself— and then I glanced about me and noticed the mountains were full of men; Men who were laughing and joking, playing some sort of a game; Not seeing how ripe the harvest, or heeding the storm that came. Soon I could stand it no longer. "Listen!" I shouted again. "The tempest will soon be rushing over the beautiful grain. Why waste your time in a frolic? Look at that gathering cloud!" But one of them quickly answered, "You're one of this idle crowd." Then came the crash of the tempest, the rushing wind, and the rain Came howling over the valleys, ruin ing the yellow grain: The heavens were rocked with thun der, the lightning split the skies, Till we who stood on the mountain covered our poor, blinded eyes!
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